 | The Shepherd's Garden |  |
18
THE AWAKENING OF DAPHNE.
Down in the dewy woods, 'mid blossoms weeping,
Daphne, rare Daphne, softly lies a-sleeping.
Come not, Apollo, with thy beams to wake her;
Forbear, ye herald winds, with fear to take her.
Daphne, rare Daphne, softly lies a-sleeping.
Come not, Apollo, with thy beams to wake her;
Forbear, ye herald winds, with fear to take her.
Lo! from the shuddering boughs sick Philomel
Drop songless, whilst the larks begin to swell
Their airy quire on rosy wings, and cry,
He comes, he comes: forsake thy couch and fly!
She wakes, she turns, and lightly speeds away,
And soon outstrips the ardent god of day.
The trembling flow'rs for joy and sorrow blush:
Daphne is safe hid in a laurel bush.
Drop songless, whilst the larks begin to swell
Their airy quire on rosy wings, and cry,
He comes, he comes: forsake thy couch and fly!
She wakes, she turns, and lightly speeds away,
And soon outstrips the ardent god of day.
The trembling flow'rs for joy and sorrow blush:
Daphne is safe hid in a laurel bush.
| The Shepherd's Garden | |